When Malcolm had told her about having dinner at his mother's house, Sinthia really hadn't expected he'd be so nervous about it: she'd agreed readily enough, and had brushed Avi's coat until all the loose fur had shed off (there might have been a hand-held vacuum involved) so he didn't leave a cloud of white fur everywhere he went. She left the working harness on him, though his was elegantly embroidered in golds and silver and blues against the bright orange fabric for visibility.

"You really don't have to be so nervous, Malcolm. It's okay. I won't walk out and leave you." She smoothed down her skirt--demure black, and to her knees, but leather and only a few shades shy of completely indecent. It went with her heels, tall enough that she could comfortably lean her head over and lay her chin on Malcolm's head.

"You want Avi?"